Once Upon an October Night
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Greg and Mycroft take part in Sherlock's experiment. John is worried by stuff they learned last year, and Sally may well learn just what it means to have good friends. Welcome to the third and final instalment in this Halloween trilogy.
1. Prelude

**Welcome to my third and final story in this particular Halloween trilogy - I hope you enjoy it :D**

 **xXx**

 _ **2pm, Sunday 30**_ _ **th**_ _ **October 2016**_

Greg grinned to himself as he climbed into his car outside 221B Baker Street.

He had just spent a pleasant hour or two chatting to Mrs Hudson, hearing all about her new tenants and sharing tea and remembrances. It gladdened his heart that the elderly lady had accepted the loss of her boys and moved on while keeping them alive in her memories.

But that wasn't why he was grinning….

Despite his belief in the visitations of the last two years, and the knowledge that as Halloween approached he knew he would honour John's request to leave a message at the duo's former home did not mean that Greg intended to become a laughing stock by asking the elderly landlady if he could leave a message for them in her unused basement flat.

No, he grinned again as the car moved smoothly away from the curb; that honour was all Mycrofts.

 _Two hours earlier…_

"Oh it's so good to see you again Mr Lestrade!" Martha Hudson beamed, leaning in as the detective kissed her cheek in greeting.

"You too Mrs H, and its Greg, remember?"

A thin hand slapped his arm playfully.

"Of course I remember, I'm not senile yet you know."

Greg shook his head and smiled.

"Well if those two loons didn't send you batty who am I to accuse?" He followed her into her kitchen and watched while she made a pot of tea.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Carrying the tray of tea things into the living room Greg shuffled a little nervously.

"I have to have a reason to visit my favourite landlady?"

"Do I look like I fell off last year's Christmas tree Greg?" Martha scolded softly. "I may not be a genius like Sherlock was, but even I could see you had purpose written all over your face when you knocked on my door."

"There's no pulling the wool over your eyes is there?"

They laughed as Martha poured the tea and cut them both generous slices of her home-made cake. Once they were settled back in their seats, Greg cleared his throat and started to speak.

"I'm actually here on behalf of Sherlock's brother, Mycroft." He began. "We meet every year on the anniversary to talk about… well, you know."

The old lady nodded.

"Anyway, I think Mycroft it more affected by his brother's loss than he would like to admit." Greg leant forward earnestly. "He thinks it might be possible to communicate with Sherlock or John, in fact for a while now he's been talking to so called 'experts' in the field of paranormal phenomena…" Something inside the detective chuckled darkly at the picture he was painting of the Government man. "… and now he wants to try and communicate with Sherlock."

"Oh the poor man!" Mrs Hudson's eyes widened in shock, and then her expression turned thoughtful. "It's a shame he didn't consider his feelings for his brother while the poor boy was still alive – he did nothing but nag at him and try to bend him to his will."

The conversation moved on, rolling through such topics as the experiments in the kitchen and how quiet her new tenants are in comparison to the two lunatic who once lived above her, about Mrs Turner's 'married ones' and how Mrs Hudson was considering getting a cat to keep her company.

When he finally had to call time on his visit he left with lighter heart, and the knowledge that and envelope addressed 'Sherlock and John' was sitting on a dusty kitchen counter in 221C.


	2. The Reason Why

_**5pm, Monday 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **October 2016**_

"Well that's a first." John chuckled. "Greg willingly being a part of one of your mad experiments."

Sherlock looked up from reading the contents of the letter, one brow raised speculatively.

"He's been part of an experiment before."

"Yeah, but he didn't know about it!"

Shrugging, Sherlock passed the letter over. There were two distinctly different messages on the paper.

' _Thanks for your help guys – where do we go from here? Greg'_

' _Sherlock, I do hope you don't intend trying to show yourself to our parents – they are far too frail for your infantile pranks – Mycroft'_

"Does your brother know you at all?" John flipped the paper towards the floor, only to watch it disappear. "Can't get used to that." He commented vaguely as the air seemed to ripple where the paper once was.

Sherlock removed the sheet of paper once more from the envelope.

"At least it will never get lost. It's always in the same place – unless Mrs Hudson moves it." His eyes lost focus as he stared out of the dirty basement window. "And as Lestrade so aptly asks, where do we go from here?"

"Last year…"

"I never repeat experiments John; it's a waste of time and effort."

"I know that you git, I'm just thinking aloud. You see, there was something about some of that stuff we read that… well… it made me think."

"Please! If you tell me you've suddenly got religion…"

John's stare was more sad than anything, and his sigh seemed to echo around the empty room.

"No, not that." He said softly. "But here we are, three years after we died, and I refuse to believe that All Hallow's Eve is the only reason we're here. It feels like…"

"Like we're here for a reason."

"You feel that too?"

Shrugging once more Sherlock turned away.

 _ **8pm**_

Raking his hands through rapidly greying hair Greg waved Sally out of his office, he had a quick call to make while she went to get the car.

"Mycroft, it's Greg."

"Of course it is." Came the smooth response.

"Yeah, sorry…. Look, I'll have to postpone our meal tonight – we've had a report of someone lurking around some derelict buildings with what looks like a gun and there's no way I can delegate this particular one."

"I understand Gregory…. Do take care, and when you've put this case 'to bed' so to speak we'll meet up – I'm sure Sherlock and John would understand."

And with the call finished Greg wondered, as he made his way down to the car, if Sherlock and John would be around to see this case play out.

 _ **9.50pm**_

"Recognise this place Sal?" Greg said softly as the car rolled quietly down the derelict back streets.

Sally looked around, then shrugged.

"No, should I?"

"That building over there - " The detective pointed to what was more a pile of rubble than a building, surrounded by Harris safety fencing. "That's where…"

"The freak?"

"Have some respect for the dead Sally." Greg snapped.

"Why? He had no respect for anyone, not even that poor deluded doctor that followed him everywhere."

"Yeah, everywhere Sally – he died that night too."

"Look Sir, I'm sorry, but what has that got to do with this case."

Greg stopped the car beside the half demolished building.

"Three years Sally, it's three years tonight, the anniversary of their deaths – don't you think it's strange that this is happening here, tonight of all nights?"

Peering around through the windscreen Sally shook her head.

"No, I don't believe in…"

Her words were interrupted by a blast of gunfire, and the rear window of the car imploded.

"Out Sally! Move!" Greg was already out of his door and using it as a shield to cover him as he ran around to the front of the car.

Another shot took out the front windscreen as Donovan fell to her knees beside him.

"What the…?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade!" The voice was harsh, loud, and had a distinctive East London accent. "Glad you could join the party."

"Who are you and what is it you want?"

"Why Inspector, it hurts that you don't remember me…" There was a harsh chuckle, before the gunman spoke again. "Perhaps you remember my brother better – Jonno Orchard? You had him put away for twenty years, but he didn't last twenty weeks in Belmarsh did he? They murdered him, and the screws did nothing to help him, and you? You couldn't have cared less! Well now it's your turn Mr Detective Inspector!"

"Orchard?" Sally whispered, frowning.

"Serial rapist, we put him away a couple of years ago." The first case the dead duo had helped him solve. "The car showroom case."

"Right."

"Come out an' play copper!" The words were followed by a burst of handgun fire, and Greg flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the car bodywork and seared a path across his face.

 _ **9.55pm**_

Having found nothing much to interest them at Scotland Yard, Sherlock and John decided to go back to the British Library, deeming there to be enough time to leave a message for Lestrade and Mycroft once they had studied the phenomena of _them_ in greater depth.

Sherlock made his way straight to the old dark room where John had found the historical tomes and set to work trying to sort the theory from the hysteria. John, on the other hand, wandered off on his own, back to the Theology section. He had just reached for a book on little known religions when his friend's voice echoed in his head.

"There's an interesting book here on Animism – that is what you're looking for isn't it?"

In the blink of an eye John returned to the dusty back room where Sherlock had placed the aforementioned book on a table, open at the appropriate page.

"Thanks." John said picking the book up and moving to a comfortable chair.

"Don't mention it." Sherlock didn't appear to bother moving his lips.

John smiled wryly – his friend was having entirely too much fun despite being dead!

Now, four hours later, they were still reading – Sherlock devouring information about sightings and something that one writer described as 'proven unexplainable' occurrences, and John immersed in the beliefs surrounding Animalism when suddenly there was a loud crack.

John leapt to his feet; the book that he had been holding hovered in the air where he had let it go.

"Greg!" Both men spoke together, and without conscious thought they found themselves back at the scene of their demise.

The two police officers were pinned down and unable to get to safety. Greg's face was bleeding quite heavily despite it only being a flesh wound, and Sally was trying to raise a response from police control, but it seemed they were in a poor area for mobile signal.

"Shit." John hissed "Can you do anything?"

"Like what?"

"What about that EVP thing? Can you try to get through to the Yard – let them know Greg's in trouble?"

Sherlock frowned as another bullet cracked into the car frame.

"I'll try." He moved to stand behind the Detective Sergeant, leaning over her shoulder to concentrate his mind on her mobile. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try to do something about that gunman."

 _ **10.15pm**_

Mycroft sat sipping a glass of particularly fine malt scotch in front of the fire in the Strangers room at the Diogenes club, having decided to take his dinner there as the usual evening plans had been cancelled.

Thoughts of his brother teased at the edge of his mind, and just as he decided that maybe he was getting a little maudlin sitting on his own he heard his brother's voice.

Wide eyed he looked around. His mobile phone was lit up as if a call was coming in.

"If anyone can hear this," Sherlock's voice came from the small mobile device, as clear as if he was standing in the same room. "Detective Inspector Lestrade is in need of urgent assistance. Armed backup required at Hays Lane, Bankside."

Staring at the phone, horrified at what he was hearing Mycroft reached for the landline, dialling his own rapid response team.

With the men mobilised he grabbed his phone and headed through the club, ignoring the stares of the members as his brother's voice echoed eerily from his pocket, repeating his message.

 _ **10.30pm**_

Greg glanced around but there was nowhere close enough for them to run for cover. All four car tyres had been shot out, and the car itself was beginning to resemble a colander. Sally was still trying desperately to get a signal, holding her phone up as high as she dared. The gunman was playing cat and mouse with them, occasionally shooting the ground either side of the car as if to warn them against trying to run.

John spotted the armed man fairly quickly and was moving rapidly around the area, looking for a way to stop the assailant before he killed one of the officers. He could hear Sherlock's message but neither of them had any way of knowing if they were getting through.

Time ran out for the officers when Sally inadvertently made a target of herself. The shot was well aimed, the bullet passing through the flesh of the officer's bicep, and she fell to the ground in full sight of the gunman.

"Mr Lestrade, I think your lady friend needs assistance."

Sally tried to crawl back behind the car but the voice stopped her, tutting sneeringly.

"Oh no, you don't get to crawl away. Now Mr Lestrade, out you come – let me see the whites of your eyes…"

"No sir!"

A bullet grazed the ground beside her.

"Shut up bitch. Now Lestrade – before I off her for the fun of it."

Slowly Greg rose to his feet, stepping around to stand in front of his downed colleague.

"Nah. She gets up too."

Muttering an apology to the dusky skinned officer Lestrade helped her to her feet.

Cameron Orchard, brother of serial rapist Jonno stepped out into the shadow of a half collapsed building, leaning nonchalantly against the Harris fencing, the dim glow of a distant street light making his gun gleam in his hand.

"I think you should thank me for shooting you and not tearing you apart like me brother was, sliced and diced with razors – they castrated him, did you know? Of course you did – you put him there and you killed him, and now I'm going to kill you."

Orchard raised his arm and aimed his gun.

Suddenly a roar of anger echoed and bounced off the buildings, and the unstable wall, the remains of the wall that had collapsed under Sherlock and John three years ago, crashed forward in a cloud of brick dust and crumbling mortar.

The dust swirled in the wind, and then finally settled leaving Sally open mouthed with shock and Greg frozen to the spot with a multitude of questions stuck in his throat.

Standing in front of them, the streetlight reflecting off his blond hair, was the late John Watson looking every inch an avenging spirit.

From behind them they heard Sherlock's voice.

"I believe help is on the way, but I imagine you won't want to tell them what happened here, well, not all of it." He moved past them to stand beside his friend.

"J…John?" Sally stammered.

"John I can see you, both of you…" Greg sounded shell-shocked.

The ex-army doctor smiled.

"I think we've worked out why we're here Lestrade…." Sherlock drawled.

"Yeah." John chuckled. "We're your guardian angels."

Over the sound of fast approaching high powered engines two very distinctive giggles echoed around the buildings, and the detective and his doctor faded aver so slowly from view.

Staring at where they had stood seconds before Greg smiled.

"Thanks guys."

 **A/N: And thank you all for sticking with this universe :D**


End file.
